Damon and Delia eBook

and I shall perceive nothing of the sun, even when
he gains his meridian height.” “And
thou despicable wretch, is this thy shallow plan?
And what dost thou think to do with me? Mountains
shall sooner bend their lofty summits to the earth,
than I will ever waste a thought on thee.”
“Do with thee, my fairest!” cried the peer,
“why, marry thee. Dost thou think that the
paltry Damon shall get the better of my eagle genius?
No. Fortune now unfurls my standard, and I drive
the frighted fates before me.” “Boastful,
empty coward! Thou darest not even brave a woman’s
rage. If my hands were at liberty, I would tear
out those insolent eyes.” “Go on,
thou gentlest of thy sex, and charm me with that
angel voice! For though thou dealest in threats,
abuse, and proud defiance, it is heaven to hear
thee.”

Such was the courtship that passed between our heroine
and her triumphant admirer. They had new proceeded
twenty miles, and the midnight bell had tolled near
half an hour. They had passed through one turnpike,
and Delia had endeavoured by cries and prayers to
obtain some assistance. But the person who opened
to them was alone, and though ever so desirous, could
not have resisted such a cavalcade. Beside this,
the pimp told him a plausible story of a wanton wife,
and an injured husband, with the particulars of which
we do not think it necessary to trouble our readers.
They had also seen one foot passenger, and two horsemen.
But they were eluded and amused by a repetition of
the same stratagem.

Delia, having exhausted her first rage and astonishment,
had now remained for some time silent. She revolved
in her mind all the particulars of her situation.
She had at first considered her ravisher in no other
light than as hateful and despicable, but she was
now compelled to regard this venomous little animal,
as the arbiter of her fate, and the master of her
fortunes. She reflected with horror, how much
she was in his power, what ill usage he might inflict,
and to what extremities he might reduce her.
She now seriously thought of exerting herself to melt
him into pity, and to persuade him, by every argument
she could invent, to spare and to release her.
“Ah, where,” thought she, “is my
Damon? Why does not he appear to succour me?
Alas, what distresses, what agonies may he not even
now endure!”

Full of these, and a thousand other tormenting reflections,
she burst into a flood of tears. Lord Martin
drew from his pocket a clean cambric handkerchief,
and, carefully unfolding it, wiped away the drops as
they fell. “Loveliest of creatures,”
said he, “by the murmuring of thy voice, the
heaving of thy bosom, the distraction of thy looks,
and by these tears, I should imagine thou wert uneasy.”
“Ah,” cried Delia unheedful of his words,
“what shall I say to move him?” “Oh,
talk for ever,” replied his lordship. “The
winds shall forget to whistle, and the seas to roar.
Noisy mobs shall cease their huzzas, and the din of